


A Glass to Freedom (. . . Kinda)

by pussy_destroyer_13



Series: gay hamilton aus [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cuz Ya Know, Drunk Sex, Fluff, Government, Hand Jobs, Hangover, ITS WILD, Kinda, M/M, Modern Era, Overstimulation, Real Life, Smut, have fun, heavy cursing, i love drunk shit, is anyone tired of these AUs??? bc im not, its also a boys night out, kind of hate sex, really moody drunks, theres more dont worry ;), they stressed, theyre in the actual DC area
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pussy_destroyer_13/pseuds/pussy_destroyer_13
Summary: After the conclusion of a bi-monthly cabinet meeting, Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton finally had crossed a never-before-touched line of sheer fucking revulsion, disgust, loathing, etc. . . Something struck a cord that unanimously evolved into action at a [modern] national meeting, and Washington was not going to tolerate their bullshit any longer, like he was watching over preschoolers.So, how do you resolve years worth of conflict between two grown ass (and stubborn) men without, honestly, fucking firing them?How do they deal with what they decide to do?





	1. share one more drink with me

**Author's Note:**

> ***THERE WILL BE SMUT NEXT CHAPTER*** this was like sitting around for a while. this is my first published fanfiction so like be gentle. i've been meaning to work on my writing more so this will be my kickstart. sorry if places seem odd, my writing can change depending on the setting and tone, and also the music i'm listening to. it's a curse xP

 

 

_Alexander sat there._

 

His newly born migraine was fucking pounding against the glossed and now disorderly hardwood desk. His upper torso rested awkwardly in place, the papers stacked, filed, and ordered shuffled with his movements. His whole office was nothing but light; light, seeping through the windows. Light, cascading the floor, the walls, his desk. It made his eyes burn to add even more effect to said migraine that was taking over his whole body. Shivers raced along his back as the buzz of the air conditioning slapped on. With his hands on the desk and head in between his arms with ease, he lifted up his jacket slightly. Thank god he always got one size bigger. In moments like these, he felt as thought he could hide away from the world. And yes, he technically could in this hellhole of an office. It was large enough to be a fucking bunker for Christ's sake. But that's not the point. He's cold now, and that ice pack resting upon his face and head weren't any more numbing to the situation. Why did he do that? Why?

 

He was going to be miserable either way he reacted. He swore that he could even feel the world shift below his feet. It was so slow. But so fast. The burn of his throat from the lashing Washington gave him stung both mentally and physically. His head couldn't cope, and while he hadn't been crying, his eyes stung with regret, remorse.  It was an unsettling warmth, something you feel in the air, thick and almost unbearable, before a storm rolls in. But the chill of this room and ice pressured him horridly to curl up and huddle himself in a bathtub's share of blankets and pillows. _I wanna fucking go home._ He always got the worst fucking migraines. And this wasn't only some instituted migraine, oh no. He could even place the individual voices of tourists pacing behind the heavy and pillared walls, each one with their voices piercing through the air, their phones searching for the next not-too-astonishing thing to capture and share with the rest of the world that has already probably seen, or can be compromised with Google Images. Honestly, at this point, Alexander could probably hear his own brain move in his skull.

 

And this plagued him on for quite some time after his recent cabinet meeting. It was horrid. And you may think, Oh! The cause would be some dumb-ass, two faced, shit stained Republican hostility, quoting that his set plan was to _"Financially equip poorer citizens of industrial communities who refuse to work"_ ( Which usually did somewhat contribute to the bullshit built up in his brain, yes )

 

But no. Not even close. On a normal day, he would be sitting in his office, working himself up over the fact that some member of a national committee was caught in another scandal in good ol' America Land. He'd diverse his phone to his ear and shoulder and prattle on and on to John while typing up some form to help release another tax related forefront for papers work related. Maybe he'd even be having a debate outside of work with some rioting idiot who's decided that something immaculate is worthy of contraband possession. Too many of those people afflicted these streets. Hell - Some days he wasn't even sure of what he had been working on. But today? Today was a not so good, very bad day, as some would say. Today was the day that he and his  _"political enemy"_ finally fucking lost it. 

 

*******

 

The adjourned issues today were starting out as normal with other departments in government settling out their plans, finalizing or subduing what had been mentioned in previous stands. It wasn't anything remarkable. The issues were important, such as probable planning for construction, or deploying a crew to investigate a new arisen and low key scandal. Alexander would be going on after few small cases alike, but he also went on before Jefferson. That would definitely ensure that some fucking drama would rise between the two. That usually seems to happen when Jefferson gets to scold Hamilton first. When Jefferson gets to go first, at least Hamilton won't try to start anything. He patiently waits to scold him on the floor, letting his thoughts build up until he has everything he needs. Alas, Hamilton can not keep his temper, ever.

 

Alexander's case was a new financial system that would slightly decrease the government spending on unoccupied property and city owned environments, as they eat up money that can be put towards proper care of public parks, and also in turn also create new parks in public areas that wouldn't be accessible to big or small companies anyways, seeing the landscapes they would be on. It may be appear as something small, but it would turn financially profitable and environmentally helpful with small community sized areas. In his mind, it was something that only some of the opposing severed republicans would try to deny in the case of, _"It's not relevant", "We need to keep them open to sell to companies anyways!"_ ( Even though it literally targets the areas they can't ), etc. . .

 

And in Alex's wildest dreams, he would never imagine that Thomas Fucking Jefferson would try to pit him on a plan like this. Yes, the daily quarrels between the two infested the office and formerly even outside of work. But when one of them even has something even remarkably reasonable, the other at least tries to bite their tongues in chance of a snide remark or snicker. Even an affair that can lead to both of them agreeing might lead to an inapt handshake or two, but it was nothing they couldn't bear because they agreed. The fucking agreed. Which was indeed something rare to happen to the entire cabinet. But still, despite placing themselves in the same political party, despite having the near identical stances in legal and social involvement, despite them being similar in the wildest ways imaginable and different in every other, Jefferson will always. Fucking. Argue. But Hamilton is no different. Someone is always. _Wrong._

 

And so, there they were in the court room. Hamilton was bewildered on the small step behind a lectern, as many beside him but empty due to the lack of true congress people seeing as this was a closed bi-monthly event. Washington was on the largest and utmost seat in front of the room, John Adams by his side. And he grazed along. The hard silhouettes reflecting on deep, rich and envious reds of the room engulfing desks upon desks upon desks. Gold trimmed paintings and beaux arts, the tall, tall walls of the towering and infinite space around them sweeping with knowledge and secrets. They whispered, Hamilton's eyes danced along the people in front of them, the blending of the light fabrics, grays, blacks, and navy blues. Baroque and Rococo styles bemused the eyes. It was everything and them some; simply eloquent. The other members were poised near the front, tables screeched out a little loosely seeing as this wasn't as big of an event this time around, thank god. They all sat within the tables provided, their bags on the floor, some on the tables like they were in high school, trying to hide their phones. The various amounts of cabinet members were scattered, and there wasn't much but the brushes of silence.

 

Papers in hand and a small smile quivered on the corners of his lips. He called for his plan, turning for a fleeting moment to Washington, and polishing his opening statement. Some breathe easy as at least Hamilton will talk verses of sense, more than some of the predecessors. Some shift in uneasily in their seats, however, as they know if they say anything, they will be projected into a shit storm they couldn't fray of even if they fought to the brink of death.

 

And then there are a select one or two that look towards Jefferson, knowing he's going to say something interesting.

 

Hamilton goes on. And on. And on. He goes on about how they start locally, within the DC, Virginia, to New York areas. How that when they cut down the odd amount of unused and overly littered areas, getting money to put towards building parks and natural habitats instead of protecting run down areas loitered by teenage graffiti and unnecessary waste disposal. And to be honest, it is very wasteful. To see disgusting places not even being cared for. It takes some time to state all his points and how it will all work financially, but it gets done. It always does. Then, after finally deciding what areas qualify as what, they turn a few more gears.

 

 

"This small project could eventually go on to restructure the parks and development of environmental safety that, in turn, develop small and large cities alike with more waste disposal and put money back into the pockets of commonwealth and business, rather than being meandered on, doing nothing to insulate areas dilapidated and disregarded to the public eye. It's honestly very exciting for me to put on the table", he intervenes with himself, just to make sure everyone is on track.

 

"And how the hell do you even know _if_ this would work, Hamilton?", drawled a familiar tone. Hamilton's eyes immediately drift to the only one who would dare to dance with such belligerent tones. He didn't say a word and simply glared downwards. Why? Why would he do this right now? He can see it in his eyes,  the utter disapproval of anything he does. T his plan was something that he had cross examined multiple times and while, yes, could have a few more flaws in less progressive areas of the country, he was not about to let an _"If"_   put him down. But his mouth got the best of him.

 

"And what _if_ it does work? Governing is about doing what we predict is in best interest of the country's well being, and even if it doesn't one hundred percent work, it wouldn't be so wreck infusing or devastating. The money isn't at fault and it would be going towards something that isn't even in large interest in the country"

  
"So if it isn't at large, then why the hell should we be worried about it now? There isn't even that much money going towards it, and if it's in areas that are inhabitable and not construct-able on, what makes you think that something just quick witted, and fund declined at that, would help it turn around? Community service? Nice try, but people here are so fuckin' lazy you'd have to pay them a minimum wage times three to fuckin' help you. It's just some useless act of pity, if anything" 

 

" _Jefferson!_ " Washington cut in, "Lang- "

 

"What the fuck do you even know?" Hamilton snapped back at Jefferson, all eyes in the room averting between the two. Washington had an opposing ice cold gaze at the back of the speaker's head, "If we want to lead in environmental security we need to do every little thing we can. You know, there's a reason I'm in charge of the fucking treasury- "

 

" -Treasury, yah, I know. How about 'ya think this plan a little more thoroughly and then come back, huh sweetheart? Some people have real plans to put on the table, and not some little coloring sheet that isn't even finished yet, huh?", Jefferson organized his own papers and got up from his chair, the tension rising as he flowed in front of his own table. He kept his eyes on his filaments and a hazy smirk over his cheeks. However, Washington was not cutting any slack between the two men, immediately getting up and towering over the rest of the room from his own risen platform, yet the overly zealous Thomas declining his notice. "Now Mr. President, if you may- "

 

He shouted, " _Both of you!_ Watch the language! I will not tolerate such absurdities and factions in this room. If you're going to oppose something at least say it with grace. And Jefferson," He eyes him from afar. "You may comment on what Secretary Hamilton has to say but do not disrespect him, and don't ever tell him or anyone to retract his governing plans. I have enough of it on a daily basis, I will not tolerate it here. Same goes for you, Hamilton"

 

Both opposing men eye each other as Washington refrains back into his seat, keeping a close eye on everyone's actions in the room. John Adams tries to add in a word, but even he is intimidated by the president. The tension is thick. As of now, some are trying to not catch a glance between the two, others are pandering and almost look like they're betting on or imitating the two. 

 

But Hamilton. . . Has to comment. He has to get his word in. His opinion is above anything else in his mind. He can't let anything slide. "At least I can get my coloring sheets actually approved. . .", he grumbled. Fidgeting over the stand of his lectern. Thomas was rounding sit back in his seat when that comment echoed throughout his being. His head snapped and he dropped his papers without question onto the table. Madison quietly flinched and some of his own papers went flying around their shared table. He quickly gathered them, eyeing what the hell Jefferson was about to do.

  
"I'm sorry, you wan'a say that a little louder, _Alexander_ ", his voice arisen. Alex felt an overly intense wave of chills piercing down his spine. He hated when Thomas used his first name, but every time he did the flow of it was irresistible. The sweat on the back of his neck stuck to the collar of his suit, even though the area they were in was almost perfect. He was getting unnecessarily enraged, and unconsciously nervous. His grip tightened around a few papers. 

 

But nothing could stop the now obvious stomach churning anger that boiled within him. He eyeballed Jefferson with such rage that if anyone were to come between them they'd be burnt into oblivion. His tongue riled over his upper row of teeth, a dangerous smile peaked and he knuckled the side of his stand, and the grip on his papers tightening with every slow step the other man was now taking. Few took part in noticing how fucking livid he was getting with each passing second, and shift uneasily in their seats. They've belittled each other before, and sometimes Hamilton would be the one to rise up, but only a handful of times has he almost gotten in his face. Jefferson ever so slowly mingled to the small decorative fence that was between the elevated surfaced and flat ground between the two men. He placed on hand on the railing of the little peak of the fence, the other right crossed over his chest unto the stand Hamilton was on. He was just tall enough to excuse himself to do so. " _Disobey little ol' daddy, Washington_ " He dragged out Washington's last name, purposefully gritting his teeth at the end. 

 

Hamilton couldn't take the rage boiling in his chest. His hand collapsed from the side of the stand. In this moment, they had a mind of their own, almost retracting and regretting what all he was about to do. His arm and fist raised high above his head, and a blinding moment of adrenaline overtook his being before socking Jefferson right in his perfect little face. His left eye, to be exact. He could feel the socket, and flinched backwards with his withdraw. Jefferson's eyes slightly widened beforehand, relatively expecting what was coming for him, but never guessing he'd actually take action like this.

 

Thomas heaved backwards on his feet, dragging a hand close to his newly pain stricken eye. Washington immediately rose from his seat to confirm whatever the hell he just witnessed, slightly hoping it was part of his imagination. There were slight gasps from people behind them as Jefferson gained slight composition, only to wrench Alex's hair to the left of him. Oh lord. He drug him over the small decorative fence between the two, bringing some haltered pieces of the wood down with both of them ( Nothing large, though ) Thomas decked him in the jaw with sheer force, forcing his mouth to close in on itself, resulting in Hamilton biting his tongue harshly, the pain swelling swiftly over his entire skull. He swung at him again, aiming for the other side of his face and hitting him right above the cheek bone, and by god did that one sever him to an immaculate amount of pain. There were some woos and hollers as some people were trying not to intervene. They were half hearten with the intent to trying and call attention to the situation, but also in some confusion to encourage it. Madison threw himself up and managed to knock himself over a few bags leading to the two men.

 

James was but a split yard away before Hamilton threw the himself over the other and pinned Jefferson to the floor, getting him back one last time. With one final risen clench of his fist, a few tears split from his swollen face and he knocked him right in the nose. Madison finally halted the action as he easily hoisted the small being of a human from Jefferson, a few more people rushing into action and Washington pacing his way down to the mess of the two men in front of everyone. Washington let out a very audible _Are you kidding me?!_ as he rushed down the platform, spitting some orders loosely into the air so no one made the scene larger than it needed to be, and to take some of the little control he had over the office. Hamilton swings himself round about until two more members come to back up Madison, and they all fall in a mess of disorder. Madison manages to keep hold his arms behind his back in a police enforced grip as the other two bring him to the floor, digging his back and scalp into the carpet barren floor. It burns. His arms are swelling against the towering man's strong grip. The other two members pin their hands against his shoulders, chest, and knees. He's whimpering as he realizes how out of control he was,retrained he is now. How his anger still seeping through his pores. A few more people are helping Jefferson up and rushing him to get aide, and Jefferson watches Hamilton's fit of rage. His face is unbelievably sore, disoriented and unnaturally placid against the cool air of the courtroom, but the few people rush him out before either one of them could get a good look at the other.

 

After what had seemed like an hour of thrashing, Washington finally towers above Alexander. He calms down relentlessly, eyeing him from where he's still in a backwards grip from Madison unto the floor. A large lump hits him in his throat as the few tears eluded still stain his cheeks.

 

He whispers to himself. _"Oh shit"_

 

 ***

 

With now the worst backlash of his life, he has a swollen head and face; Hamilton's at his desk, pendant onto Washington's words.

 

_"Years later and yet you and Jefferson still have yet to resolve any conflict with one another like mature adults. Your actions have lead me to believe that you maybe aren't suit for this career. I will have no choice but to make a very bold decision. I am severely disappointed with you, and I'm not sure how I could deal with a situation like that again. If you react like that another time. . . I don't ever want to deal with that again. There will be no violence in politics. You're both grown men, and I expect you to act like gown men. . . Listen," He pauses "I need you to take a short leave as I will decide what to do about this whole ordeal. For a day or two this weekend. That's all I have to say"_

 

His grunt slowly draws out into more of a muffled scream as he exhausts his own voice into his formal ill-fitted jacket. But that was kind of stupid. His whole head is burning in agony. Not to mention, his face just. . . Hurts. His throat burns. He was stuck there, his body refusing to move. His upper torso rested awkwardly in place. His whole office was nothing but light. It made his eyes _burn, burn, burn_. Shivers raced along his back in sync to the hum of the air conditioner. With his hands on the desk and head in between his arms with ease, he lifted his head up his jacket slightly. Why did he do all of that? Why?

 

As he finishes off his quiet scream, a small a crescendo of knocks barricades his door. His head rumbled along with the pounding at the door. A muffled _Alexander, what the hell did you do?!_ seeped through the door. That french accent. He knew Lafayette already acquired what had happened. He knew it wasn't going to be good but he simply groaned loud enough for the Frenchman to acknowledge he can probably come in.

 

A tacit creak followed with how Lafayette presented himself. His fingers traced the frame of the door as he let himself in, eyes lining up with the desk several feet ahead of him. The papers around him where excused with little care, his desktop computer even shouldered over to the other side of his desk. And his hair - _Oh God._ It was a disheveled mess and almost freed of a small bun that was previously holding it up so well. All that was left, now, was a small hair tie held with a half assorted cluster of fine hair, the rest trapped within his crossed arms and sticking to the ice resting upon his head. Alexander sensed the little patter of the Frenchman's feet as the door clicked behind his heels. "Well? Are you going to answer me?" Lafayette had already waltzed his way more than two thirds across the room to him, now peering at the sore excuse of the man. Hamilton churned another groan.

 

"Alexander, look at me" Nothing. " C'mon, Washington told me to tell you something- Well, told me to do something. Now look at me, please?"

 

He didn't want to look at him. He knew he'd see the disappointment in his eyes, and oh how they'd take pity on him. But he had to grace the man. Lafayette was one of Alex's closest friends and he knew when something was displeasing, disappointing, distasteful. He'd known since college, and now his shame radiated more than any other time in his life. Even more after when he may or may not had almost literally blown up his living room with John by setting off fireworks while drunk for the Fourth of July. Lafayette sometimes could not understand the American thought process, but that was the one other time where he was: One, scared to death that he would have nowhere to live, and two, set himself on fire because it was a fucking firework. But that's a story for another day. Alexander gave in and found himself staring down the business end of a bayonet of emotions. It may have felt like not such a big deal, but he knew this could cost his job. And his job is his life.

 

 _Yo_ , he muttered. His throat went dry. "Mon ami," Laf started. He kept his voice down, and Alex fucking hated when he did that. "What did you do?"

 

_Don't lie to me. You know what I did._

 

Despite holding a momentary regard, he obviated his eyes elsewhere once he felt that wave of crushing defeat in his voice. Lafayette rested his arms on the front end of his desk and tapped a few fingers onto some light papers in a nimble rhythm, drawing back Alex's attention. "What does it fucking matter?", he growled into his suit sleeve. "Let's be honest, I'm basically fucking fired at this point! I'm a wreck! I don't what what came over me- _I snapped!_ I've never done anything like this. . ." It developed into a voicelessness, his eyes prickling more and more with Washington's words on the back of his throat.

 

"But you've never done this, specifically. Listen, Alex" Gilbert smiled. "You're not getting fired." Alexander's head instantly shot up in reply, a soft moan parting him as his migraine was still pounding to fucking Narnia. He rubbed the bridge between his eyes and set his self back down in sheer disbelief, and tardily rested his other hand that was holding the ice on his head down to the desk. He wanted to cry right there. He didn't know how to react. So, his eyes glossed over to him more attentively. He took in Lafayette's face, trying to figure out what he was trying to say, at least. "Then is- Is Jefferson?"

 

Gilbert shook his head. "No. Neither of you are getting fired."

  
Why? What type of joke was he trying to pull? His head rose slightly higher, slower. His eyebrows furrowed and his hand cascaded over his face; this had to be a really, really cruel prank. His head was pounding, the light was blinding him. He was burning and freezing to the touch. He felt like shit, and now the man in front of him even dares to try and pull a stunt like this? Alexander could feel that stomach churning anger build up in him again, his throat itching to just shout to the rooftops. But his thought process was at halt. "Washington told me to help you because he knows how well of workers you two are. He can't afford to fire you. Well, he can- But that's not my point. He doesn't want to. And we also can't get a restraining order or law suit on our hands" Gilbert chuckled. He admired the delicate bruises that cornered his face. "You really got Jefferson. And it looks like he really got you"

 

Alexander was riled up now. Not in excitement, but utter awe. His eyes grew wide, and he lifted his ice back up to his head, a small hint of embarrassment forming in his cheeks. He leaned backwards in his chair, and looked at his computer, a blank screen, shifting a few more papers to make the place seem more orderly knowing that he may have been overreacting a little. But in his defense, Jefferson probably was, too. He was probably turning everything over. He was probably pacing around his office, yelling at James at how none of this was his fault! About how he didn't start anything, ( Even if that sentence may have been utter bullshit ) how Hamilton was plotting something secret, or anything else wild. Hell. Alexander could probably even bet he threw shit across the room. He probably wasn't happy at all. And Alexander could see it all in his mind and kind of japed at it before then returning to his own abashed state.

 

"Well how exactly are you going to _'help'_ ," Alex air quoted with his free hand "us?" Gilbert leaned back, taking a few papers of Hamilton's in hand and shuffling them to organization, helping him out a little. He placed the papers on the counter side of his desk. "Well, I invited the boys to come out for a drink tonight. We're all going to get rid of any and all tension, and work from there! And Jefferson and Madison will be there. Not just me, you, John, and Hercules. We're going to be, what you say, _'bros'_ ", he air quoted as well, imitating Alexander from only moments ago. Again, Alex was flushed and leaned further into his seat, a louder groan parting with him. He didn't even want to argue at this point knowing this was for the sake of his job. He wanted to say how fucking bullshit this was, how this wouldn't solve anything and only result them in being drunk idiots who would probably fight even more. He sucked in a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something right before Lafayette glared him down. "Meet me at seven tonight at _Off The Record_." He began to stand up, adjusting his suit at the cuffs and chest. He gathered a few papers off the ground at his shoes, placing them beside his arms and encouraging a small smile. "And I'll be paying, so wipe that grumpy little frown off your face. I'll see you tonight, Mon ami!"

 

Alexander felt like shit. He laid back down on his desk.

 

_"Fuck"_

 

_[ The rest of the day had been in, indisputable, misery. Alexander had picked up and left early, bringing only the necessities. Once home, he subdued to his inner demons and collapsed onto the couch. But right before, obviously, he pursued to obtain some Excedrin and passing the fuck out. He would have stayed in office. He wanted to just reverse time. Why the hell did he punch Jefferson? His thoughts cascaded over his eyes as he eventually lost himself in sleep. The couch beckoned him, the cushions absorbing him into some form of comfort, the world drifting before him. ]_

 

*******

Thomas stormed all about his office, wadding the occasional paper and throwing it into the fireplace behind him. James sat quietly and comfortably in a seat nearby, arms resting and body pressed backwards. While yes, Thomas was only sparingly recovering from the recent fracture, his eye swollen and having a hand held to it closely with an ice back, and serious bandage on the right side of his face to carapace it from the elements, he was still an invincible storm to be reckoned with. The papers flew back and forth, in the fire and around the room. The combined fire and outside lighting swelled the room, a small heat entrapping the cool air conditioning, but was nothing majorly aggressive. His voice and drawl boomed, and Madison swore that some people from the outside would stop to check and make sure they weren't going crazy.

 

After a solid half hour bandaging an almost dazed Thomas, and then spending another listening to a fully awoken one, James had a moment of _Why the fuck am I listening to this when I have work to do?_ But that quickly diminished as this was his friend. And honestly, Hamilton shouldn't've swung at him like that. But Thomas also shouldn't have pestered him the way he did. It was a little unnecessary. A little rude. But we digress.

 

His thoughts were fitful as Jefferson threw an actual book. James jumped back in his seat, watching the book catch blaze. His eyes dilated back to the other man irritatingly grabbing at his hair. It almost seemed like it got bigger as he relished in his anger. "I'm so fuckin' sick of him and his smug ass tone! Who is he to try and fight me?! _He fuckin' punched me!_ He punched me! He- " He kept going, and forfeited to actual screaming.

 

 _"Thomas!"_ Everything hitched. Lafayette stood in the doorway with a towering and disapproving Washington at his side before walking away, shaking his head in disbelief. In all of history, he was pretty sure America hadn't had more aggressive cabinet members. Laf sighed as the other walked away and stepped his way into the paper wadded room, quietly pressing his back against the door and closing it. Jefferson was shaking in anger. It toned down though, however, seeing Washington's stern stricken face. He didn't like to admit it, but George was very intimidating at times. He was the _fucking president_ , after all.

 

His voice lowered. "Thomas, calm down." He sighed. "Listen, as you could probably tell Washington was right there- "

 

"I'm not blind"

 

"I know. And what happened back there?" Lafayette motioned his head past the door. "He's not happy about it. He's pissed" Jefferson smirked. But not out of cockiness. Out of his own fear. "And he's considering ah. . . uhm. . . " He rubbed the back of his neck, the hair tied back getting caught between two fingers and causing Gilbert to flinch at himself. "Letting you two go"

 

Madison's head snapped towards him at full attention, grazing Jefferson's eyes. Part of him, truthfully, wanted to crack up and ridicule the man for his actions. But he knew better. Thomas was partially in shock, and partially in denial now. If any emotion truly peaked right now, it was utter hatred. His eyebrows furrowed into the hoods of his eyes, the swollen one not changing much due to it's damage. Thomas removed the ice from said swollen side of his face and leaned back against his desk, more than curious as to how the french fry would continue. His lips ached from screaming, and his chest was aching from different forms of pain. It all started to seep in.

 

Lafayette could feel the heat in the room and knew that this tension was anything but good. He cleared his throat, the fire slightly roaring in the background. "But you know he doesn't want to", he added, a small grin perking his cheeks. The tension dimmed down some, but Jefferson kept his guard up. Laf crossed one leg over the other as he remained leaning against the door, hoping someone else would say something before he had to. His smile still plastered on for a few more seconds before turning his attention to the next speaker of the room.

 

"And how the hell will this not result in any punishment? I've already been told to go home! What else is there? I'll just wait until I'm fired because of mother fuckin' Alexander fuckin' Hamilton!", Thomas claimed, his hands gripping the back of the corners of his desk. His throat burned from the fear of losing his job, and his head started to pound. If he lost his job for something as minor as this, his career would be ruined. Where else would he get a job but a run down town in the middle of fucking Virginia. God bless his home state, his pride, but that's not the money he needs to survive and make a name for himself. He wants to represent Virginia with that pride, and this surely isn't fucking what he had in mind. Years of work being crushed by some petty argument and fish fight. Washington had a zero tolerance statement for arguments that weren't law and work oriented. Or if it just got out of hand.

 

And now that he thinks about it in the clear, it kind of did get out of hand. Years of disgust and disapproval lead to the two men not even able to share a room with each other without starting some all out insult practice, or debate fueled entourage.

 

"It's not only his fault" Gilbert's voice echoed throughout his mind. His eyes still set on the man. "I heard you pestered him. Honestly Thomas, this has gotten out of hand, and now well . . . ya", he trailed off, staring at the ground. There was more silence. "But, listen. George said he isn't going to fire you if you do one thing. You have to get along with Alexander." Thomas felt the pain throb in his eye once more and flinched, raising one arm up to place the ice back on his eye. _Getting along with Alexander? That was going to be a wild ride._ One that he never wanted to be a part of. This fuckin' sucks. He looked down at the ground and let out a hefty sigh. There was no way out of this "What'd you have in mind?"

 

Lafayette smiled.

 

*******

Alexander and John were inside the bar thirty minutes early, Alex wanting to prepare himself for the oblivion that was about to meander it's way into the night. John completely agreed in, basically, every way possible. _Yo man, you do what you want!_ They cracked up at the peak of not even 6:45, ordering a shot and finding some ridiculous way to split it so neither of them would descend into the night too quickly.

 

Now, the bar itself, was gorgeous. The walls were plastered in political artwork, the walls trimmed in beautiful browns and velvet reds. There was an utmost elegance in the room, the deep red carpeted floor containing the new remnants that fill into the room. They made sure to preserve a booth like area to the right side of an ivory fireplace. People were filing in with broad and tailored suits on, their eyes red to the core. Work in D.C. was merciless, and seeing so many of these officials already drinking 'til dawn wasn't anything out of the ordinary. A few women mingled with their assumed husbands, and chatter and educated laughter constructed the many well off rooms throughout the bar. There were little to no windows in their seated area, the dim lights utterly capturing the reminiscence and bargaining of wealth. All in all, it was nice.

 

The two men chatted nonchalantly, at times cracking up at some people who were already deemed too drunk for their well being. John would snap a few to his story, and Alex would video it to keep in case John forgot to bar down his own. Shortly after a few more fits of giggles, Hercules managed to run up to them, his work bandanna still wrapped around his head, his hands a little more calloused from the last time they hung out. He had his own department store in D.C. presenting his own life of clothes and tailoring. His business was already soaring, seeing as how be brought in so many new customers a week and had already gotten requests from some of the women of the White House. He was always so happy, having a smile plastered everywhere he went, but also looking like half of him crawled out of a dumpster, the other half like he was a hipster millennial who tried way too hard. He made his way to the other two; a few people around them were caught staring, with a person or two laughing at them. Or maybe with them. Either way it was all light-hearted fun right now.

 

He sat himself down, all three of them ready to fuck shit up. But as the minutes ticked on, Alex fidgeted in his seat. How would this really work tonight? Him and Jefferson were political enemies. Personal enemies? They hated each other to the fucking core. In retrospect, he had no earthly clue how the hell Gil was going to be able to quaintly set aside their differences in one night. . . And also pay for all of them.

 

The time ticked. Agonizing. But he forced himself for a few more minutes despite every aching muscle in his body begged him to go before he saw three men weaving their way through the newly conceived waves of people. Alexander was more then happy to see Laf at the front of the other two, who looked less than rapt to be here. He waved them from a distance with the others railing closely behind. Well, at least Madison looked more into it than Jefferson. It was probably the promise of free booze.

 

And Jefferson was an atrocious mess. A hot atrocious mess. His face was even more swollen than before; you could actually see the bruise around the eye more vividly, which resulted in a few passerby's giving him awkward stares. Not to mention his cheek was still patched from earlier because he didn't want to risk departing from the soothing aloe vera patch in the incident he didn't have any more, and _really, really, really_ didn't want to go to the store to acquire anything else. What could he say? The man was pretty lazy. His hair even managed to look slightly worse, and Hamilton wasn't sure how that was possible considering his hair always looked the same. It truly baffled him.

 

Alex's heart skipped a beat as they finally made their ways over to the table. John and Hercules welcomes Gilbert warmly, and openly inviting the same warmth from the men behind him. Madison tries his hardest to retaliate seeing as how he was kind of a tag-a-long. But Jefferson pulled a face. It's an I'm trying to be nice but I really despise one human being here right now kind of face. He focused himself on Hamilton, and Hamilton returned the same gaze. They stared, observing the marks they'd imprinted from one another as their acquaintances quickly got their greetings and laughs out of the way. Eventually though, Gilbert cleared himself and pat Thomas on the shoulder.

 

Thomas raised a brow at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Thomas, _le plus cher_ , aren't you going to say hello to Alexander?" Gil eyeballed the distance between the men, the rest of their crew going silent to watch the interaction. Jefferson kept his focus locked on Alexander, and Alexander obliged. John elbowed his friend, giving him an unsatisfied look. _Do you wanna get fired?_ he ever so quietly mumbled. He knew what was up with their whole fiasco of constant belittling and reservation of the most horrid of name calling, but also knew they both needed his fucking jobs to kind of live, _specifically Alexander_. Kind of. Alex plastered one of the most counterfeit smiles known to mankind and rose his hand slight from under the table, waving it in his direction. "Heeeyyy, Jefferson."

 

"Hello. . . Hamilton" He paused awkwardly and cupped his elbows. His brows furrowed, his eyes went askance. The few guys looked away until Lafayette ordered them where to go about. "Oh, now do not be shy! Come one, tonight we can lighten up! Here, Thomas, scoot in the booth and sit beside Alex, oui?"

 

Thomas shot back at him, "I'm not going to sit by that egomaniac! What if he decides to, oh I dunno, attack me again?" He scowled back at Hamilton "I wouldn't hold back this time", gritted under his teeth. Gilbert surveyed him before growling, _"Then I guess Washington wouldn't hold back on firing you, would he?"_ The table went silent for all but a second before Hercules and John started tittering under their breaths. While Gil cracked them with his eyes, Thomas uncomfortably shifted next to Hamilton, and the other two men seating themselves in the equally larger seats in front of the booth, completing the squared off area.

 

And the night would shift from there.

 

***

 

The night dragged. It dragged everyone through the mud. At first, everyone was still treating others as a nuance, starting conversations that they know would have no relevance towards the others. The few areas around them with similar space and atmosphere quickly overpopulated, and you could probably tell a few political faced within the hustles of people. The noise arose, the tensions ceased to exist in conformity. And in new conversation, however, Lafayette always incorporated them in, with newly ordered drinks beginning to cascade them with euphoria and demand. It started off with small food, small shots, small everything. But Gilbert encouraged them tauntingly, pressuring them they could never out-drink a french man. John took that to heart and began shouting for drink after drink, lining his drinks with the other. James joined in on the fun, demanding privatized and secretive menu drinks, each one probably able to fuck you up worse than the previous. Because of such demand, the whole table took him up on his word of promise, each one ordering a different variation.

 

Eventually, Hercules glanced down at the table with wide stricken eyes and a mind foggy enough to cause a car crash. "Holy shit guys. Should we sto- " Hamilton cut him off, banging the table to signal a waiter to shift around. " -Hey! Mister uh, waiter guy! Bring us some more fucking shots!", he shouted, a small and synchronized holler emitting the table. A few chuckles left the table and Hamilton glanced over to Jefferson for the first time in the past hour, despite the conversations drawing them in earlier. He leaned back weightlessly in the booth, cushions protecting those little curls atop his head. They bounced with every giggle, with every sign and every small movement. His scarf enclosed his throat every so carefully, the back entangling with the curls behind him, the light gray mixing well with the rest of his outfit, the dull colors shifting focus away from him rather than drawing one in like they would at work. As much as would ever hate to admit out loud, he looked adorable with such a minimal sense of fashion, highly contrasting his daily office apparel. But that probably fluctuated knowing the man's personality.

 

Before he could be caught staring, the waiter brought back a tray of those overwhelming drinks, each one of the men cheering yet again and grabbing the newfound delicacy. A few more moments pass as they all discourse, making bets, or talking about shit that's just happened today, the good types flowing right out of them into their glasses. It's all a mess and soon the waiter returns one more time without indication, but with some new specialty that none of them ordered. And there were a lot. Like- each one of them could probably take maybe four, five. Lafayette whispered into his ear, handing him a large amount of bills.

 

"Ayo, Laffy Taffy, my boy, what the shit are those?", Hercules asked, blinking heavily before placing his arms unto the table. Gilbert merely laughed and shrugged his shoulders downing one, his grin beaming more than before. Each one of them looked at the man bewildered before taking a shot and making some of the nastiest faces imaginable to man. Lafayette cackled in his seat, as well as Madison since he knew exactly what the other had just done. There was one drink that you had to order specially, that required a few hours notice to develop, but once it hit you, it hit you like a freight train. It didn't really have a name, but many around that area deemed it as The Whopper. The men played games with the shots, food combinations alike and little games within games as they just got looser and looser.

 

Thomas groaned against the seat while a few of them laughed, slumping down. "Guys, guys,", he slurred, closing his eyes for a brief moment to gain any bit of composure he had left. "I have a mother fukin' story time." His gaze was wide towards the ceiling, but the whole table looked at him in nothing but pure curiosity, since this was the first time the whole table had been addressed. His eyes closed, a few deep breaths leaving him before Madison hit his shoulder, "Thomas, dude, tell the god damn story!" Alex laughed uncontrollably at this sight and covered his mouth with his left hand, leaning against the table with the other arm propping up his head, downing his last shot of the table.

 

"Okay, okay. So- So," he started, his southern drawl embracing itself. "My story time is about the time, that I got punched by a Mr. Alexander Hamilton and whined like a little bitch for an hour and a half." The whole table busted out laughing, not drawing attention yet because the whole bar was at their level this time of night. Alexander unleashed himself the most, drawing his face into the hand that propped up his head and cackling like a witch. "Jesus fucking Christ, Thomas!", he echoed into his hand.

 

A small chuckled roared with them as well as Jefferson continued on. "See see, it was uh. . . Sometime in the today day. And this fool right here decided he was gonna go up first. Maaann, you kno' that never works" Alexander just kept laughing, the rest of the table in agreement of action with him, but slightly less severe, genuinely interested in where the hell this story is going to go considering it's how they all ended up there in the first place.

 

"Alright, yah? And then," he leans up from the booth, draping one arm over Alex, almost shifting himself off, and causing Alex's breath to hitch lightly as he's trying to calm down from his laughing spree. "He fuckin'- he goes and fuckin' says something. Now see, I don't remember what he said, he was probl'y right considering this bitch don't ever shut. Up." The group's grinning ear to ear as they try to hold back their laughing.

 

"You right!", John busted.

 

"Yah, yah and see- I don't know what was running through my mind. Honestly, man. I don't even remember why I argued with you. Hell you were probably right! I just like messin' with ya, man."

 

"It's pretty fuckin' obvious you hate me, my dude", Alexander cackled, rubbing his face against the palms of his own hand only to retract the pressure due to the still soreness of his face from their earlier wrangle, slightly shifting under Thomas' weight.

 

A few light Yah's escape the men, one or two of them taking a quick half shot because this alcohol is just fucking them up, before Thomas gave Alex one of the most confused looks of his life. He shook Alex a little with the arm thrown across his shoulders. "Whaaaaattt? I don't hate you! You hate me! That's why you punched me in my fuckin' face! Boom!", he pretended to deck himself, imitating Alexander from earlier today and then shrieking like a small child.

 

They roared in laughter once more, some of them pounding the table with their fists. Alex cracked up himself under Jefferson's grip, looking up at him. "Ok, ok babe listen, I don't hate you! I just- I don't know? You're like, really tall so I think you're intimidating. I think. I mean honestly, look at you! You're a fucking giant!" His eyed him up and down.

 

"So you punched me because I was _tall?_ ", Thomas queried, taking his final shot after what had seemed like an eternity of talking.

 

Alex shrugged innocently, not sure what to say. Thomas gave him a a questionable grin, some of his spirit dragging him in.

 

"Non, non, that is not right!", Gilbert cut in, slamming down a glass and focusing his eyes on the two in front of him. "You cannot just hate someone for years at a time because they are tall! That's just the stupid talking!" He shuffled around the glasses on the table, "There is more to it!" His slur hindered his accent so much it was almost hard to understand. Almost. All men looked at him with genuine curiosity, Laurens' ready to hop on any boat Lafayette was about to sail.

 

Gilbert leaned in close to the table, cuffing his hands around his mouth like he was a megaphone. "I think," he looked both ways as if he was crossing the street, dazed. He whispered, ". . . I don't knooowwww" His voice had risen to a high shrill and they all laughed once more. John leaned in close to the area where they passed the most unkind of whispers. "Well I think maybe. . . Maybe uhmm . . . ", he stopped and looked lost within his own world, baffled by what he was about to say. The men looked at him in utter curiosity. "Maaaann, why do y'all hate each other? I mean- all I hear is how Jefferson did this, and Jefferson started that like all the time. You talk about him constantly! It's like you're fucking in like with him!" He chuckled under his breath before leaning back in his own seat, rubbing his face, absorbing the numb feeling in his cheeks.

 

Alexander raised a brow at his questionable choice of words and followed the others actions, canting back in his own seat and then crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced over at Jefferson, not quite taking in his reaction, and focused himself the best he could back onto John. "Yo, Thomas does the same. Exact. Thing.", James slurred, riant with himself at the end. Thomas looked up at him like he was out for blood, but James just laughed him off before continuing, leaning across to John, yet still addressing the whole table. "He talks about him so fucking much. Like- you'd think they were obsessed with each other!"

 

"I know?! Honestly," Hercules joined in, almost like he had a dire secret "I think they have a 'thing' for each other." James bit his lip and nodded in response, the laughter almost roaring from all of them. Minus Thomas. "Like- Like! He'll even call me. In the middle of the niigghhtt, and tell me about how much he loaaathes Hamilton, but- "

 

"Shut it, James"

 

Everyone's radiance dimmed down but the two giggling about the reason they were here. Madison ignored the other and kept pestering him for all the reasons they were obviously infatuated with each other. Gilbert noticed the newly born tension but simply carried onward with listening to the other lighthearted conversation. Alex occasionally played with the idea and couldn't help but laugh at their whole situation. It was kind of crazy how well this was going. It was crazy how at ease Alexander is. But alcohol is one hell of a drug to him. But Thomas still had a look of pure loathing for the scenario. He shifted anxiously in his own spot; it was like he was a whole new person. He dug his phone out of his pocket and averted himself from the situation and mockery. It wasn't anything harsh, but it was embarrassing as hell.

 

He pecked at the screen, barely able to properly coordinate to play a game, or check social media. It was almost unreadable unless he actually stopped and held himself as steady as he could. It didn't keep him Thomas entertained for too long. He groaned and rested his phone on the table, his head following and almost knocking over a few glasses as he laid his head down. It seemed graceful, however, his head hit the table with a loud thud and Alex jumped next to him, his smile slightly fading as he noticed how tired the other already was. From observation. "Uhhh, Thomas?"

 

Thomas groaned in response. Alex pointed to the top of his hair and signaled to the others what the hell he should do. John shrugged. "Maybe little ol' grumpy pants here is sick of us talking about his little crush! Oh! Oh! Or maybe you're like this all the time! James?" "Yaaahhhhh he is, aren't you _little Thomas_ ", James picked, imitating Laf's typical tone when he slipped in his occasional french. Jefferson slammed his hands onto the table in response, causing a shift in the crowds of people to look at them while also slightly moving away. The bar hustle went on, however. He glared at James before gripping his phone in anger, all of them quietly shutting up and staring at one another inquiringly, like they done something wrong. "Stop fuckin' antagonizing me like this! You got us here to get along and then you ridicule me like I'm not even here, yet _you_ invited me to this whole fiasco? Honestly, what kind of fucked up shit are y'all on? What if I just don't like Hamilton in general? What if I think he's an arrogant, self centered little prick who doesn't fucking care how his actions effect anyone? Why am I fuckin' here?", he trailed off, rubbing the back of his head and bouncing his curls all over the place, his face plastered with anger and defeat. _"I'm getting drunk and emotional for the sake of my fucking job. . ."_ , he choked, laughing at how stupid it sounded, rubbing his pristine eye.

 

There was silence. Not true silence seeing as how the entire bar was filled with fine, infatuated idiots, but it was quiet for them. The table, the situation. James sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes danced along the members of the able before clearing his throat. He was about to say something but nothing really came to mind, minus checking his phone for the time. 9:37. It was still early in the night. But they had been there for over two and a half hours drinking to their hearts content. The bar was staggering around them, their own senses were severely numbed, and Gilbert probably had one hell of a bill to pay. But honestly, that man could maneuver his way out of almost anything, or at least bargain with someone of sorts. They all could feel the night wasn't turning out like he wanted at all, and he just wanted to everyone to get along. And also to not get fired. To just have a good time. It was so fucking awkward.

 

All was lost until a small sniffle exerted Hamilton. Thomas was the first to notice and shifted his weight to turn towards the man in front to the round side of him. The others followed in the same motion. Alex covered his face gently with his hands, making sure not to dwell or supply the bruises with any more pain than necessary. He wasn't crying, per say, but he was almost trembling. _Anger? Sorrow? Drunkenness?_ His brain swirled around the conjecture of everyone in the bar, staring at him. Jeering him. Why is that grown man crying? What is he doing? He looks so stupid. His head ached with a familiar throb. It twinged with the invisible pain. But the tears were lost.

  
_"Yo, Alex?"_ , John murmured beside him, bracing himself to try and comfort him, but it was abandoned when his friend just sunk more into his palms. _I'm ruined. . . I'm stupid. . . How could I do this?_ , His breath hobbled on his lips, the alcohol radiating his body, battling for drunken heat, and icy regret. Thomas' whole frisky attitude had fallen short of what was but a moment ago, and he could feel more and more emotions deluge. His face singed with timidity, and he cocked his head sideways, trying to sear the mental image of a helpless Alexander out of his head, despite the mess flowering right before him. Lafayette was completely and utterly outraged at both of their outbreaks, but also unapologetically sympathetic. _Fuck._

  
He scowled himself with silent curses, and began placing a large amount of money and a quick scribbled note below the sum. "Alright," he spoke up, needing to avert the situation from any more tension, though at this point you may as well slice it and make a sandwich out of it "Obviously, this need some intervention. And I'm not sure how you would really go about it, but. . . " He trailed off, taking his coat off of his lap and standing up. He took some more cash out of his wallet, placing it in Laurens' hand. "John, you, Hercules, and James can share your Uber. I will pay, do not fret. I will take care of Thomas and Alex for the night." Gilbert plastered his infamous goofy smirk, and it eased the three men he had addressed slenderly. They promptly gathered and left the scene, a quick goodbye hug, maybe a fist bump to part ways. John's stammer was the worst of the three. He could never really handle his alcohol. It was bemusing to watch them disappear, leaving the other three to their own devices. Alex had finally let his tears loose as Thomas held every emotion possible back after his outbreak, leaving his face dark and riddled with sheer and utter pain. They were a horrible mess.

  
This time of night needed resolve, and resolve would happen. Lafayette grabbed their attention, and led them to their designated area, sitting them both in the back seat of his Uber. It may not have been the smartest decision, but he truly hoped some resolve or reciprocated feelings would be shared in the birth of the night. He swore he could hear susurration, an occasional sob, and would eye one of them glancing over at the other, but it was all lost in these D.C. heats.

  
Lafayette quickly told the driver to give him a minute, and escorted the other two men up to an apartment in their current complex. Alex hadn't had time to notice where they were before, as his elementary focus kind of wasn't on where he was going but where his career was going. As he glanced up to the now door to an unfamiliar condensed and cutting edge design. His head shot to Lafayette, who was already gumming something low to Thomas, and Thomas looked like he was about to burst into a fit of something caustic, and revolting. And in all truthfulness, Alexander probably was about to, too. "Gil," he started in a trembling voice. "Why are we at Thomas' place?" They both looked at him, and Laf had infliction rising in his eyes, his mouth sucking itself in for what he was about to say. There was no way he was going to get out of this alive. "Alex. . . I need you two. . . You- ", his body shifted as he crossed his arm over his chest, giving himself a mild pep talk. "You need to talk with Thomas. You must communicate to get along, and Washington has told me there will be an urgent meeting tomorrow about your situations, and how you will either work together, or, uh. . . get put off."

  
Those last few words stung his tongue. His speech was still gently audible, lazily, due to his hours of imbibing. At least he could still linger on his thought process. He clung to himself thickly, and made his way to his patiently waiting driver, ready to go home and fucking sleep. Alex wanted to scream at him. He wanted to cry out his name, stop him, beg him, anything to not stay, but he just stood there. _His head hurt. His eye hurt. His body hurt._ He was intoxicated, enervated, distressed. He was everything, and felt like nix. And he was sure Thomas was the same. But more or less angry. It was all penniless, not a thing he could do, and the last thing he remembered hearing Laf say was to text him if he had an emergency.

  
And there they were. Alone.

  
***

 

There was silence. Impregnated, calm, unadulterated silence. Alex rested, his whole body shifting in the uncomfortable, unbearable silence. His body winded into the curve of the leather lounge beneath him, a fleece and wool comforter cradling his body in warmth, provided. The fireplace illuminated the living space, and eyed Thomas across the room, his eyes plain on Alexander's face, providing the silence more entrance. It was quiet, awkward, drunk, and warm. _Unbearably warm._ Everything was unbearable. He took further instruction to canvas the place engulfing him, the walls of cream, the ceiling ever so high, spacious and warm. It was, yet, still a haze in his mind, his blood simmering with numb alcoholism. And Thomas. He reclined in his own chair, a smaller blanket nuzzling his body, his eyes now averting the floor, and space around them, but absentmindedly grazing the walls, his head spinning. Though, he'd not admit it right now.

  
The calm exposure drowned Thomas in his senses. He, truthfully, had too many goddamn drinks. And now he was here, in his apartment with someone else whom he didn't particularly appreciate. The fire trembled underneath Alex, and he could pinpoint the marks he left. He left marks. That was a thought in itself. However, as more time passed, unbearable time. A final thought struck a cord that screamed _You need to talk_ Gilbert repeated in his mind. _Fucking fuck_.

  
His bottom lip quivered in anticipation and he raised his hand to his mouth, clearing his throat and making his head trip over itself mentally. "Hamilton. We. . . We need to talk" It was the first time he talked in a while. His voice was more soft spoken, yet still dominant and slurred. A little off pace. Alex looked up at him, his eyes immediately glowering towards the fire to the left of him. " _Mhm_ " he muttered.

 

_"Look at me"_

 

Hamilton's initial reaction was to roll his eyes and tell him to fuck off. But those anger subdued thoughts were caged beneath an overbearing feeling of guilt and hysteria, and so he complied, ever so hesitantly, moving his head more upwardly to keep a steady and balanced fault of focus. He exhaled, shifting somewhat under the blankets, his lower half of his body drawn up to sit Indian style and his shoulders drawn back more in the cushions, bringing a throw pillow unto his lap despite there already being a comfort item upon himself. Thomas scowled at the thought of the other's feet on his couch, but couldn't bring himself to let a smaller thought swell over the real issue. Without anymore hesitation, he spoke once more.

 

"Hamilton. We. . . We have to get along." Alex smirked, "Easier said than done, huh?" Thomas frowned at the interjection, but let it slide. "Anyways, we have to be prof. . .essional" The word left his mind "And I'm sure you don't wanna lose your job- "

 

"And who says you wouldn't lose yours?! The whole reason we're in this mess is because of your actions!", Alexander spat, clutching the throw pillow on his lap and grooved his eyebrows, raising his back to arch off the couch only slightly. While Thomas sucked his cheeks in no rhetoric, he knew he was right. He cut him off, he provoked him, he got in his personal space. "But you're the one who punched me!"

 

There was that unbearable silence again. Alex's back ruffled against the blankets slowly scrapping down to his feet, his slimly arched back now walloped against the couch. his whole face had revered back to a more commonly know, still oddly illuminated by D.C. and fire. "So what?! Do you really think I care about what I do to you? We're _enemies_ , Jefferson. And this little incident that happened today will be. . . " He struggled "Will be just some stupid gossip that will never effect our records- "

 

Jefferson was vulnerable, and Alex forthwith noticed a waterfall of tears streaming down the older man's face. While they were enemies, _Do you really think I care about what I do to you_ oscillated in his being. It floundered on his world, and just to hear those words flow like a river right out of his mouth crashed him against the rocks of the thrashing river. He didn't bother to hide his shame. His dignity. He had broken down twice in front of Hamilton today, and now he just felt so fucking unbearable. He made no attempt to hide any noises, yet to action as to rile them up as well. He sat there in silent and heartbreaking bliss, watching as Alex's face became distasteful. "Thanks for letting me know you don't fucking care", he shuddered, feeling his face _cold and warm_. Warm from the fire, his blood, his energy and soul. But cold. Cold from the weather, from his attitude, from Alexander. 

 

 


	2. helpless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***that smut yall been waitin for yo***

 

_"Thanks for letting me know you don't fucking care", he shuddered, feeling his face cold and warm. Warm from the fire, his blood, his energy and soul. But cold. Cold from the weather, from his attitude, from Alexander. "You think this won't affect me, either?"_

  
Alex chilled. His words willingly drug themselves over his throat. His breath discoursed with remorse, his eyes flickering to every atomic action Jefferson worked up: the lights over the darks, the floor almost breathing with every lax hinge and action above or below them, how perfectly his body suited the recliner, almost like it was just made for him. The walls perfectly reflected the passing cars, each ones headlights glassing over and disappearing without any trace of existence, even the landscape paintings devouring the passes like they were nothing. The whole house smelled of luxury, of remorse, of alcohol. It stung his nose. How could he live like this? Alexander felt intimidated by his pursuit. Everything was grand, large, and he was infuriating and, at best, little. _And it was still so fucking silent._ "Are you gonna say anything? I fucking care about what's gonna happen and- and- _fuck_."

  
Thomas grabbed his self. His entire being began reeking of anger, his pores drenched in dry ire. His left hand carefully grasped the faint blanket below him, it sticking to his body and clothes. He carefully maneuvered it to wipe his eyes and face, treading lightly over his, now, puffy eyes and weakly sore bruises. His back laid flat in frustration, the cushions giving some form of physical comfort. His legs and chest were a burden, so fucking angry and ready to scream, yet his voice so raspy as time progressed. "Why do you hate me? How did this happen? I can't- ", he cut himself off and burrowed his mouth into the tear stained cloth in utter frustration. A few more tears fell unnoticed as he raised himself back up after his muffled tangent.

  
There was more silence. More unbearable, fucking _silence_. Alex muttered, "I don't know", and Thomas. . . laughed? No. That wasn't a laugh. "Don't fucking lie to me, Alexander!", his voice escalated at the end, resulting in pure ice spilling down his spine, bumps forming on his skin at the assertion of himself in the dead silence. "Why would I be lying to you now?" Alex sounded weak. _Broken_. His voice even cracked; he was on the brink of tearful anger. He gripped his throw pillow even tighter, fidgeting with the loose ends, needing a mental ease, something to do. To touch. Something real. Thomas stared at him. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you want me to get fired? Want me to fucking decline, lose everything? New flash, honey: you don't have shit either!"

  
The tangent continued. "I have to deal with you almost every fuckin' day, and what the hell do you do? Just stand there! Aggravate me with your mere fuckin' presence! I can't get anything done because I'm always thinking about you!" _What?_ "And even when I'm not, I'm having to deal with something you did, or hear about you, or even just- fuck!" Thomas reeled his head down into his right arm, it rubbing the top of his forehead and leaving it there, resting now upon his knee. His head pounded with every word he even thought, and Alex took time to absorb the silence and Thomas recuperated, dragging his hand through his ever so thick hair before sitting up. He was now leaning with both elbows against his knees. His head only hung downwards but a few degrees, and the fire contained the tears to his face. They ran again, his eyes visibly more red and sore than only moments ago. He bit his bottom lip in anticipation to say something, but kept his eyes locked on the blaze a few feet away. Alex didn't like the silence now.

  
_"I'm sorry"_

  
Alexander was stressed. He was under pressure, and he never really cracked. Especially with learning how to live in the modern era. But nonetheless, no matter how much he could argue, banter, and despise the man in front of him, thinking about the source of their demise was impossible. Or, improbable. They just spun downwards over the years, no matter how alike they actually were, how much they actually agreed, nothing. It was just. . . "I don't hate you. I don't know why I said I di- "

  
" -If you said it then you obviously meant it. Don't fuckin'-"

  
" -I don't", he rose, his presence now well aware in the dark of night. He held a steady frown, fingers no longer mangling with the pillow, and winced at a bit of pain in his head that followed. Thomas was now fully captivated, but again, on the brink of tears. "Jefferson. . . I don't hate you. I don't know what I _'to you'_ " He took a moment to think about what the actual hell he said, moving his hand quickly in a wave motioning to the both of them before realizing that it still didn't make sense. And Thomas raised a brow at his choice of words, a smile almost seeping through the surface. But he remained blank in the eyes. It almost felt awkward. "I think I'm just scared- scared to get along with you", he fumbled, feeling a unique sense of dominance quickly shutter into the fireplace. His eyes went mellow, his figure leaning more towards the left side of his couch, and it was heavenly. His head tilted to rest better on it, himself still sitting upright. His gaze followed the floor beside him, too scared of what Jefferson thinks. Or what he'll say, or what he'll look like. They're both ridiculed by their pride, and for something as sensitive as this to drive that resistance into oblivion is embarrassing, to say the least. It felt childish. Yet, he still traced the curve of the wood, shoulders and head clouded in saturated booze with a hint of exhaustion. And Thomas sat there, watching this arrogant, loud mouthed bother, turn into dust. His eyes followed his every movement, from the rise and fall of his chest, to the arbitrary tap of his finger on the pillow. He glanced back at the fire, then back to Alex.

  
"Don't be" Alexander's body went dull with stillness, a quick side glance trying to construct Thomas' emotions, but still wanting to count how many more light to dark slices of tree took up the floorboards. He could hear his breathing now, the fire desensitizing and flowing in the background. Everything became a blur.

  
"Alexander," _Fuck_ "Please look at me" And he complied. And he would probably regret everything from then on.

  
Thomas' eyes beguiled every sensation in Alexander's mind, every muscle in his body coursed over little to no tension. His own eyes blinked slowly with desperation, a few unaccounted tears already simmered, and furled heatedly down his cheeks. His lips were curled and almost quivering in the overstimulated guilt that accompanied his body, which had even displaced itself to a new status of facing the other, hands and slim fingers engrossing the blanket as raspingly as possible, the pillow almost thrown to the ground. His face was heated, his ears were flushed. And then Thomas, Thomas sat, too. His hair patiently fallen, in account to it's position, his face now completely and utterly enthralled on Alex - the one who'd started this whole trail of sermon. _I'm so sorry,_ he whispered, just loud enough for Alex to hear. _I didn't mean it. I never meant anything._ And Alex was helpless. He coughed timidly before fixating his face in both palms of his hands, fully accepting his condition. The burning in his throat. The revolting taste of rue, woe.

  
As quickly as it happened, Thomas stumbled off his lounger, almost lilting in his lackadaisical motion to bring his way forth Hamilton. One foot in front of the other. _Don't fucking fall._ Thomas managed to date himself across the room, full of embroiled, raw emotion. His whole body ached with a lust for sleep. But he still made his way to sit beside him, the floor aching with weight as he rolled himself into the cushions, but abruptly bringing himself more forwards to hover over his knees. He stared at the side of his head, the sobs still soft and somber under Alex's hands. He'd never been this close before. His hair was in more or less of a ponytail anymore, his hair soft with light, some strands stuck to his hands and tears, the rest simply fallen around his face and shoulders haphazardly. His shoulders pointing, lowly and prim, like the rest of his body and how it inundated. _Hell-_ his hands were even signally smaller than his face. And this finespun mess was right in front of him. And how he reeked of alcohol. It was almost as adherent as the silence.

  
Such, Thomas cautiously set his hand on the large of Alex's left shoulder, his whole body crippled but overly quivering under his touch, contempt with him knowing his presence was very much there. He nonchalantly, but guardedly, wiped his face with his coat sleeve, eyeing the shine of his own shoes, the light that flowed the room anew with more passing strangers. But, he had to look at Thomas. And thus he did. Alexander cocked his head to his left, the hand on his shoulder gripping him tenderly in approval.

  
_"I'm sorry"_

  
Alex nodded in agreement before breathlessly laughing, _I am, too._ He took initiative and restfully opened his arms, engulfing Thomas in an aghast hug, hoping and praying silently that he'd return the favor. And his prayer was answered. As he opened, Thomas, almost strenuously, grasped Alex and bringing his own weight down below him. Alex buried face into the dip of his shoulder, his hands and arms instantly embracing round his defined torso; his hands slightly chipping their ways into the back of his suit in holding. And Thomas engulfed the other, bending down ever so slightly and bringing one arm around his middle back, the other, his neck, taking this as a chance to feel his hair and run his fingers ever so gently through, making Alex's body bend backwards barely. It was an embrace of understanding, some gentle sobs passed unanimously. _Why are we so stupid?,_ he whispered. _I don't know,_ Alex responded.

  
A small fit of laughs broke the hug, which, truthfully, felt like an eternity. Alex shut his eyes as he absolved his face of anymore tear stains with his sleeve, and Thomas gingerly rubbed the sore eye that hadn't got ever so adroitly decked earlier that day. He surveyed Thomas, and they were both smiling. A genuine smile. _And then silence._ While Alex still had a simper plastered ever so immature, Thomas' lips were shut, his eyes examining the space between them, the unexpected liaison of their short embrace. And Alex felt it. Overwhelming, overbearing, unadulterated emotions. _Staggering, imperative, tyrannical, wholesome. . ._

  
Thomas pulled his hand closer to his cheek and jaw, his stubble he'd grown out brushing his thumb and palm. His eyes were already half lidded, taking a moment to devour a risky sight in front of him. Alex unexpectedly slightly sunk into the feeling, before inadvertently raising himself up to steal his lips, shutting his eyes and placing a hand on his chest lightly. Thomas hitched his breath before getting sucked in, but swirled into this new built desire, leaning back to let Alex take some reign. At first, it was a silent and numb closed mouth kiss, but Thomas took even more enterprise and opened himself up, inviting Alex to do the same. And so he did, already sliding his tongue into his mouth, pressing so harshly against his teeth, begging for more. Thomas almost laughed, but Hamilton gained more traction, now bringing his other hand up to his waist and pressing the large of it into his hip bone, signaling him to lay down. Alex bit Thomas' bottom lip, leaving little resistance for the other man. He laid down, working his way through Alex's hair and down his back, sending warm chills everywhere. He groaned, wrestling his mouth over and over, leaving little room for his tongue to dominate, despite being on top. For now.

  
Everything was barbaric. In only a few minutes time things were moving at an insanely quick pace. Alex had his previously palming hand up Thomas' shirt, and Thomas had his hand occupied on Alex's crotch, carelessly rubbing and rutting against it, barely able to resist the urge to buck his hips and dry hump him right there. And he assumed it felt good, considering Alex was a moaning mess in his mouth already. His mind was drunk in kisses, moans, sensations. Eventually, though, Alex pulled away and drug his face into the crane of his neck, absentmindedly almost clawing at Jefferson's ribs, his breath heavy and sedated. He moaned while Thomas still rubbed, and it sent sensitive vibrations throughout his whole body, especially his growing erection. Alex hesitantly forced his hand away, and propped himself up better on his lap. His face was a needy mess, his motions agonizingly slow, their drunken states truly defecting their wants and needs. But he looked down, his hips now harshly pressed against Thomas and his eyes begging, begging for exactly what he could give him. _"Th- Thomas, please"_ , he whispered, running his hand into his hair and pulling himself more or so downwards and grinding his hips, as well, in plead. Thomas' eyes had shut in adoration of the impression, stirring the other's hips closer and head up for another kiss, like it was all those shots from so long ago in the night.

 

Alex had electricity race through him, and then began to rise up to allow himself leisure to take off his and Thomas' coat, then following with unbuttoning his shirt. He had never seen Thomas shirtless, and by god, did this do any justice beforehand. He could feel his body, so carefully constructed, toned, and at large, unreal. His hand grazed his pecs, simmered down his abs. . . His body lacked hair in some areas Hamilton wished he had, and took note to some right above his waistline- _Dear god_ that V-line. His hips were perfect just from the touch and he gave himself a gentle groan in self satisfaction. It was unreal. He felt so powerful, and it only brought him closer. Thomas officially worked his way down to Alex's pants again, but this time undoing the button and zipper, trying to push them down as far as he could. Alex barely breathed out a chuckled while he did so, and followed up with removing his mouth one more time, bringing his hand down to finish the job Thomas had started, quickly able to slide his pants off and kick them onto the floor.

  
Thomas went to bring the man back up to his kiss swollen lips, but was in blind awe as he saw him coordinate himself the opposite way, now on the lower end of the couch, dipping his knees downward. Fumbled with the zipper and hem of his pants. His hands were unsteady, uneasy. He almost had a hard time maneuvering as he was brimmed with pure lust and desire. His mind went hazy, and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to realize what was happening. He wasn't granted too many minutes from dear old father time. _He was intoxicated with Alexander Hamilton about to fuck him after almost knocking him out earlier that day._ This wasn't something that happened everyday. However, the heat of the moment overflowed and he almost jolted forward as he felt Hamilton's tongue graze the underside of his underwear, barely containing his now full on erection.

  
_"Fuck, it's so big"_ He shivered, his eyes closing once more under delusion and a hard moan entrapping the rooms walls. It was almost sinful, and Alexander took it in ever so graciously. He was slightly sloppy, but still torturously delicious. His tongue ran over his britches carefully, occasionally putting his whole mouth over it. And how time must have flown once more, because this time, Thomas basically screamed as his erection was almost fully in his mouth. _"Alexander- Fuck"_ He swung his hands to forfeit his power, entangling his fingers into his hair, tugging his head down more towards his length yet not too much or else he would probably end up unintentionally face fucking him. Alex moaned and shut his eyes as he took him in as much as he could. His tongue forced it's way under his length multiple times, running along the veins and the underside of his tip every now and then. It was so sloppy, lazy, and Thomas fucking loved every moment of it. He ran one hand up his own chest all the way to his hair, gripping it thinly and easing himself into a steady breathing pattern, his chest rising ever so gracefully and his legs wandering up the couch sides with every ache of his muscles. Alex felt the slight shift and unconsciously rested his hand against his thigh, pressing it to keep it downwards so he couldn't entrap him.

  
But in the moment, Alex hollowed his cheeks, earning a deep and throaty groan from the man above him and removed his lips from his erection, licking the tip one last time. Thomas was disheartened and his hand hovered above his eyes, not wanting to cease his action, but felt Alexander shift atop him and began sucking at his neck. He placed both hands at his sides. Each one grabbing him and soothing different areas of his body. _"Alexander,"_ he groaned, trying to increase any friction between the two. His teeth sunk into the side of his neck in affirmation to such a musky tone, to steady on, and he brought both hands gawkily to both sides of his hips, rutting him against and earning a more high pitched moan from Alex and rise in body to attention. He stared down at him in the light of the dark and felt himself grow harder and harder at every small movement and flowing emotion he possessed. Finally, reaching for his own underwear, Alexander felt Thomas hiss in satisfaction tangibly, the weight of his body rise off and then back on as his final article of the lower half of his body was ultimately discarded.

  
Out of instinct, he tried to settle down, grabbing his dick by the base and almost working his way in, the tip pressed and Alex mewling for relief until Thomas stopped him in his tracks. " _Wait-_ Wait, wait wait. . . " He was out of breath and sat himself up, lower pack lightly pressed against the armrest of the couch and his body moving, uncoordinated with his hands and eyes unable to sense what he was truly touching until he palpated it out for a few seconds. His hand was now searching in a lower board of his side table, then the lowest possible drawer under whatever the hell he kept down there considering that he lived alone, and finally managed to pull out a miracle bottle of lube. Alex almost absentmindedly blinked it off until he realized what it was, plastering a wide and goofy grin across his face. "Right, right", and grabbed the bottle without hesitation, dwelling the cool oil in his hands and giving Thomas a slight hand job, the liquid smearing around his base, his pubic hair, his balls- hell he probably even got it on the couch. He wasn't going to be happy in the morning.

 

Alex couldn't wait any longer, and finally lost himself in lust, hovering above Thomas and slowly started sinking, sinking, sinking. His face scrunched up as he realized he forgot his personal prep, but Thomas savored every moment. The divine new squeak of the hardwood floor, the lights burning even brighter in his presence, his eyes rapidly trying to locate every part of Hamilton's body, the mixture of infatuation and sleep deprivation flooding his sanity. _Deep breaths_ , he muttered, now lowering his back onto the base of the sofa and his hands back on Alex's hips. He felt him sink, trying to get every inch in over time. This time, time went to slow. He could feel his warmth, his body, his heartbeat. It was insanely captivating. He dug his nails into his hips, trying to caution him but also press. But, time granted his will, and Alexander was now sitting completely atop Thomas, already breathless. He had both legs on either side of his hips, hair hung around his face and swung around his cheeks for clarification of Jefferson. His hands were on his abdomen and chest, lower lip bitten so gratifyingly.

  
Though he could barely follow Alexander's facial recognition, he nonetheless let him ignite a pace, an ill-mannered and devastatingly slow pattern. He rose, he fell, _he rose, and fell._ He locked his eyes on Thomas the entire time, the now dim lit fire barely illuminating his hunger. Thomas felt chills rise every time he moved. Alex, obviously, bore of the pace quickly and began trying to move quicker, almost failing and even falling in his state. Thomas kept his grip on his hips, and slowly tried to work with Hamilton's pace, with Hamilton almost squeaking with delight as he was moved around with ease. It was a pain to keep a steady pattern, yes, but he tried. His hips slowly rutted into his ass, Alex's moans increasing with the pace. He moved his arms to sprawl more across his body, head now closer to his abs and able to run them more carefully over his body in praise and approval. And did Thomas run with those little trinkets of praise, because he kept working up, and now slamming into Alex and trying to find that one spot that he know'll make him just scream-

 

"Holy _fuuccckk-_ ", Alex's voice rasped, his back arching backwards instinctively. _Bingo._ Thomas stopped and Alex nearly strangled the man. Until, he forced himself nonstop into that one general area, making sure to make him bounce up and down in synergy. His voice cracked and drew out short breathed moans, with a long string of _Right there, Fuck, fuck, fuck me, Thomas yess_. His whole body was putty and he could feel the edge on his orgasm in such short time, especially enhanced with the alcohol in his system. Thomas sensibly grasped his cock and began stroking at an odd pace, knowing it would drive him over the edge. _"Fuck, please please Thomas I can't- I-_ " His orgasm shot up in high anticipation, and he expected Thomas to stop at the same time. Except he didn't. He was almost finished, but still had a few more beats to let out. Alex's prostate was pounded so harshly he wailed in pure ecstasy, his whole upper body collapsing on Thomas while he relentlessly fucked him harder, his hands drawing to different places, one in his curly hair and the other grasping the couch, Thomas edging his own orgasm. He pushed even harder, Alex feeling tears rush down his face as it almost teetered on pain. But just before anything negative could happen, Thomas ceased with his own cream filling his ass and an overly sensitive Alex dry coming on himself as an aftershock.

  
They were gasping, Thomas cradling Alex in comfort and relief as he slowly pulled out, stroking the back of his head and making half coherent whispers of solace. His eyelids were on the brink of falling off, and his body ached in alleviation and sincere hope that Alex would be fine for the night as he shifted him so he could lay on his right side, and Thomas on his left, cuddled up on the not-so-small couch. He could feel his breathing calm down and heard a small utterance of something possibly sweet. Thomas rubbed a finger below his tear swollen eye as he could feel and see him drift off, or so he hoped. Either way, he reached over onto the floor for the cover Alex had thrown down in his earlier fit of melancholy, wrapping it around them to make the most comfort of their positions, the pillow from earlier underneath their heads. Maybe this was something he wouldn't regret in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried so hard to make this flow realistically. im basing it off of what's happened to me as well as a few other friends of mine. i rlly tried to get to the raw emotional part of this. i t r i e d. also, i kinda decided to do this all in one night instead of studying so??? wow i need a better motivation. but im smart its chill. also, sorry it's like half as short as the last chapter. i think. anyways i hope yall enjoyed, im rlly having fun writing this :)


	3. we both know what we know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heads up: sorry again if this chapter may be even shorter, the next one will be HUGE. like how long the first chapter is kind of huge. dont worry, butter beans. this part is more of a 'i dont know wtf we are gonna do bc im not gonna try to not overreact' with a hint of spice ;)

_It was hot and dark._

 

  
_4:37 A.M._ Thomas' eyes glossed over the sudden time change, feeding himself the details of Alex and what he'd done. It was no effort to amass his thoughts into what situation led to the next. The fetor of alcohol, the taste lingering in his teeth, wry on his tongue. A new body mass ever so hot against him, face completely nestled into his neck and absorbing Thomas with every breath, ultimately dashing his body with feverish chills. And Alex's hands - they contrasted the ventilation - ever so delicate and curling; one hand right on his chest, occasionally tugging at the blankets hem, and the other slightly under his cheek, cupping his own chin. Thomas could feel him so carefully, every part curving in its own direction and temptation. But his head fucking hurt. It resonated with regret- _No._ Not regret. Questions. Captivation. A sleepy hangover.

 

  
His entire body lubricated itself in convulsion, every muscle craving more and more distant sleep in turn of events. But Thomas felt himself hypnotized. He stared at Alex. His eyes still intent in how his face touched while he slept, how irenic he can be when he needs to. How careful. But Thomas also blinked heavily in provocation. _I don't have a thing for Hamilton._ Did he? He could assuredly say after many years of putting up with the man, the best way he could describe him was. . . _Shit, what was it?_   He couldn't. He didn't hate him, but he wasn't infatuated like some teenager. Though, a few hours ago he was nothing but an overly massed body of stimulation and sensations.. Something swayed him that peaked his interest, engulfed the water that put out the fire and watched it flicker into ablaze. It overtook his entire body and mind, and was, truthfully, borderline addictive. The sex, the moans, the soft rolling of his hips _on and on_ before submitting fully. His words and praise echoed throughout his household, bouncing off every corner like it belonged there, soft or not.. His hair tossed over every angle of his face, the umbra robbing it into mere glimmers of shine.

 

  
Thomas almost wanted to smile. To pull him close and warm him even more with sounds of purring satisfaction and love. He'd put his hand more unto the small of his back, residing to winding his hair up and igniting a sleep intoxicated round of chuckles, fond in love. But, they were not some young couple, blindness withholding the ache of pain billowing in the hills they rode, the work they divided. They didn't wake to the sun, unable to caption dreary loneliness, and follow routine by drinking coffee, tea, or whatever yielded this time in the cabinets. One would have work before the other, or possibly even the same time, and would depart the other with such a spry and amorous touch before rushing to their own equally affectionate jobs, returning, later, to the quiet of love once home. That, was something more than what he'd experienced. This was, firstly, lust. It had to be some type of desire, attraction, likewise this would not have happened. And there was no . . . love in the picture. But in technical terms, love and lust shared similar physical desires. So, yes, in a way Thomas loved Alexander. An unusual love. A questionable love.

 

  
And his thoughts clamored on. His eyes shut without hesitation, his mind picturing his own perfection versus reality. _4:43 A.M._

 

  
***

 

 _Reality._ Alexander woke, too sensible of his own hesitation and breath. The loiter, the sting of his own breath and the utter distrust in his stomach if he were to even move. His stomach, _oh shit_. He could feel the churn, slow and heavy. It burned to the back of his throat, the hellish scratch, but his follow-up monolithic headache equalized, indifferently, the pain building up in his body. He wanted to get up, throw up, and follow up with half a bottle of pain killers. Though, it was nowhere near the pain he'd been expecting. But something stopped him in his tracks. Something unendurable; nothing and everything. Alex's eyes brooded in front of him. He could feel a heartbeat, a regular breathing pattern. There were hands, his hands, too, a mess. His body was warm and nude under the blanket. This summery, minus the blanket provided, was foreboding, and dug more into the arch of his spine and muscle of his throbbing stomach. This body was dark and only slightly hairy against his, proportionally doubled in size. And again, those hands, were godly soft but deviously intimidating. Thomas instinctively pulled him closer under his induced state, even the slightest shift rusting his unconscious being. And Alex could only gape at the fact. His chest was so warm, and his chin slightly guided his head to gander up his brawn arms. He traced _up, up, up,_ to his neck, his face. His curls framed the other side of his face that weighted them down. There were a few to spare timidly, but they stuck to his forehead and cheeks in a light sweat. And his face wasn't the scowl it usually pertained. His nose lined up perfectly between his eyes, shut in allurement and tranquility; his brows resting easy versus the arch they always take on during the day. And his lips looked, like his hands, simply full and godly. The scruff on is chin slightly grown out, taking a more manly buff and dawdling his jawline in exasperation, bringing out every feature even more. An unconscious Thomas Jefferson was stewed in sleep. And Alex felt impossibly infirm. _I need to move._ But he couldn't. He dreaded everything.

 

  
Until, Thomas abstracted from his slumber. His body inched closer and Alex barely pulled back, leaving Thomas in a whirlwind of cold yawns and grasps, eventually pressing against him. His arms awkwardly shifting in search of, hopefully, a pillow, but found nothing but a warm, warm body. Recollection served, and he quietly opened his eyes. His eyelids sagged in fever, preoccupied and heeding down. There was no distinct reaction, no words. Their eyes locked in a moment of unconditional confusion, but Thomas felt more. And Alex, unquestionably, did, too. He said he cared. _Last night._ He begged him _Please, Thomas._

 

  
He fused his hand down his back sheepishly, eyes half lidded and still driven minus the emptiness the alcohol left behind. It wasn't the most consolatory internal motility, but they were grown men, and could take it. He anticipated. His eyes longed for something more. The warmth of his hand had already sent Alex into a tame and green shock. Some sudden reaction almost felicitated a compulsory need to gag, but he suppressed it nonetheless, probably due to the initial calm of the morning. _Plus an unknowing wobble mid-night into the kitchen with Thomas when he woke up whining about not being able to taste his own mouth, resulting in some re-hydration._ While it went long forgotten by the two men, Alex could feel something. But Thomas still beckoned touch, and _oh_ how he lured and mingled in Alex's eyes. It was an unspoken remediation, and Alexander willingly pulled closer to kiss him. His lips must have surprised Thomas, because he had slightly jumped before directly bringing his other hand up. It compassed his face. The sweetness of bare trust engulfed their senses. Alex's lungs unconscious of the breath he ever so quickly needed after a few moments of a half sufficient make out session. As quickly as he had reopened his mouth in desire, Thomas milled his open knee against the underside of Alex's balls and entire cock, making him shrill in jerky prevision and shudder in his fruition. He barely rutted against him, the friction and now welcomed warmth overtaking his senses. Their lips were captivated in such a passionate kiss, tongues finding their places against tossed dominance. Thomas entangled his hands in Alex's hair, pulling himself down to overtake his neck in wholly hot licks and kisses. Alex kept his eyes shut in complete shock, a quieter moan escaping the back of his throat. And Thomas continued with such compassion until Alex finally spoke up after these minutes of erotic dances.

 

  
"Wait, wait. _Please, Thomas_ ", he shook. Thomas leveled his tongue with his neck one last time, purposefully leaving a long streak of saliva and light embellishment of warmth. His coiled hand left his back, wrapping itself now around his waist and eyes glowering at him with, still, an empowered and blankly canvassed expression. There was a tinge of fear that wreathed within, almost dread, that left him unknowingly defenseless. Alexander caught another shameful sensation in his mouth, diffident of the position he's now entitled to. He cleared his throat, a small cough or two following up. "I uh. . . I don't really- I don't know what to. . .", he began, Thomas chuckling in defense. "Did I leave Alexander Hamilton speechless?"

 

  
Alex felt unfamiliar gall stall his being with tension, unsteadiness, undefined boundaries. His mind was a mess, actions and words in extraordinary disarray. He hated when everything just didn't make sense, his emotions most tolling. "No- _Fuck_ , I don't know. I don't know how this works. I've never done this! I'm sorry" His words, still, bouncing alongside the light, eyes elsewhere in the world and fatigue of the principle of uncertainty monstrously engrossing both of their mentalities. _Everything was so still._

 

  
_How is this going to work?_

 

_Why did I do this?_

 

_How did this happen?_

 

_What do we do?_

 

_How do I feel about this?_

 

  
"Don't be" Thomas spoke up, competent of the black in the light when dubiety compels people to understand itself. It can break you down like a rock, each meaningless letter in it's breath devastating. Each vowel, abash. This moment in time will not be secluded to uncomfortable conformity, each distant jumble of nonsense bashing against their minds in different tenses, senses, meanings, leaving them more dumbstruck than ever. _No, this won't happen._ Alex almost snorted at him.

 

  
"Why not? I- We should both be sorry, I don't even know what to do! I don't know what I don't know!"

 

  
"Exactly. Which is why we. . . _We can't ignore this_. I don't know how I feel about it either, but we have to do something about it"

 

  
_"I don't know, though"_ Alex whispered ever so gently. His words and their meaning echoed more than anything, the quiet dying like it had never threatened them in the first place. His eyes cowered away from him, uncertain of where they wanted to focus on; anything but Thomas. This was the first time he was truly noticing the ceiling, how it reflected so perfectly in dim whites, the windows, _the grand scale windows,_ almost too big for the walls of the apartment themselves, collectively taking advantage of the accents of the D.C. life. Just barely, he could grasp the floor, now highly illuminated in everything but the fireplace, which lay elegantly unlit and bland to the west. Yet still, the rest of what Alex could make out were the walls plastered plainly like the ceiling, the lights alongside the walls versus the ceiling, which looked more than breathtaking. He craved to explore the unknown, but rested indigently, longing for some short term solution until his sober passed. Though, his thoughts were disturbed when he felt and saw Thomas sigh, cooing at him to look up. Or at least, pay attention. His heart stopped, eyes resting longingly on the ceiling and humming in quick insurance.

 

  
"Look, at least think about this. _You_ don't know what to say, and I'm _agreeing_ with you", Thomas vocalized the You at the beginning, and Agreeing, louder than the rest of the sentence "This is basically Washington's dream. . . Minus the lack of clothes"

 

A moment passed. There was no time to it, only patience. An eternity of seconds ticked by. And, Alexander just barely smiled, finally looking up at him. It made Thomas' stomach churn in disgusting happiness, rubbing the other's side in comfort. This had to be more than infatuation - than lust. But it wasn't quite love yet. Right now, it was understanding. But it was also fear. Simply, sweet and silent. Not quiet. Quiet is _unforeseeable, ignorant, and grudging_. Silence is _welcomed, mutual, endearing_. And at this point, all that needed to be said was nothing in the oddly empowering force of newly embraced silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry this one may be a little shorter than the last, i tried to figure out a way to transition this right. i think ill end it here bc just timing stuff. woopwoop have fun

**Author's Note:**

> i was rlly excited to write this. like - jefferson is rlly southern here but its bc i am and i rlly rllyyy wanted to make him as accurate as i could. i had so much fun writing it so like, maybe i'll make it an ongoing thing? or like i can do other stuff idk ;P if u want comment and let me kno! hopefully i can post the gooood shit tmrw. and i rlly rlly rlly wanted to finish this chapter tonight; anywhosies if u like it leave me a like or kudos or whatever so i know i'm not wasting space. thxxxxxx


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